


Where No Sea Leaps

by orphan_account



Category: Robin Hood BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making camp in the Holy Land, Much would lie close to his master and think about home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where No Sea Leaps

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [A Tale](http://community.livejournal.com/greatpoets/2035749.html).

Making camp in the Holy Land, Much would lie close to his master and think about home; he knew how very far it was, he remembered how long the journey had taken, but he could still see the same stars overhead. It was puzzling. Sometimes Robin would ask him questions: what will you do when we return home? How will you like to see the green fields again? That was puzzling, too. Much would do whatever Robin did, and he would like to see the fields of Locksley very dearly. Robin's lands were the finest of all lands, there were none more beautiful.

As time passed it became difficult to think about home. He could no longer imagine the black soil and thatched roofs while all around him was this fine sand, this rocky place, the strange canopies of dusk. He could smell the dry winds; the sun made his skin grow red. He did not expect to see England ever again and he worried that Robin might not either, even though Robin was the best, most skilful fighter in the entire Guard. It was Much's responsibility to wipe clean their swords, their tunics, to touch his fingers to the rusted stains on his master's boots, and he had never seen such ugliness. They both dreamt of it. He woke from the memory of rot.

One night Robin lay down and opened a thick book upon his chest. It was the Turk bible, he said. He said, go to sleep, you've not been sleeping. He said, I just want to know who they are.

Much watched Robin turn the pages into the night, his own fingers folded quietly around the medallion at his neck.

*

Once he lost sight of his master during a long battle. His head thundered with the sounds around him -- yelling and striking metal and shrieks, the hot breath of horses -- and he was sure to be trampled or gutted at any moment. The hilt of his sword slipped against his palm. Someone's voice caught in a choke behind him and he staggered, wiping his face with his sleeve.

When Much found his master again it was late afternoon. Robin held the curved blade of a Saracen and took hold of his shoulder roughly enough to cause pain.

*

His parents had worked the mill when he was a small child, and if he were honest he could admit they had not thought him capable of doing anything worthwhile. They did not teach him how to mill. They did not teach him to grow food in neat rows. They did not themselves know how to read or write, and so it was impossible that Much should know.

A little way from the fire, he waited as Robin's steady fingers traced out symbols, up and down, curving and dipping. 

"There," Robin said once he was done. "What's that?"

Much stared at the lines in the dirt. It didn't look very different from other words Robin had drawn for him, in the past.

"What do you think it says?"

Much took a quick look at the expression Robin wore. "It's my name," he guessed.

"No," said Robin, his mouth curving upwards. "It's my name."

"Oh. Well, it's all the same, to me."

That seemed to make Robin happy and so Much considered it a good guess, even if it was wrong.

*

Much's story goes like this: his parents worked the mill and they thought him useless, and when they were killed by outlaws he missed them dearly. He was young. The Earl of Huntingdon came to him and said, I have need of a manservant. The Earl of Huntingdon took pity on him. 

He was young. He decided that was the beginning of his life.

*

The light was strange at Acre. The moon burned down on the sandy plains, it seeped through the hangings of the tent. Robin took sleep where he could, falling onto his cot fully dressed, one hand on his stomach, one hand empty. He wore the surcoat of a knight; under the moonlight the white cloth seemed to shine like new metal. 

"You do not have to come with me," Robin had said when they still lived at Locksley.

"Of course I'm coming with you," Much replied. "Some days I don't think you know what a manservant is for," he added.

Robin folded his arms. "For losing to me in archery practice?"

"That is just my generous nature. I was taught to keep my master happy."

"No you weren't," Robin said fondly. 

They packed some belongings on their saddles early the next morning and left to meet with the King's Guard. It was still dark and the forests deep; the horses stepped blindly.

*

All the important things he knew, Much learned on his own. People, he learned, could not remain the same in the bloody pilgrimage of war.

"You will get yourself killed," he protested on their third day at Acre. Robin had become reckless, he was too clever, he bared his teeth without smiling. 

"I don't want to hear any more of your mindless bleating, Much."

"Oh, I am glad. Soon you won't have to," Much answered, "as you will be dead. And what will happen then? I will have to cart your sorry bones all the way back to England."

"No, you won't. You'll go find yourself a new master."

There had been nothing to say to that, not even hours later when Robin sighed in the dark and came over to Much's cot, pushing their foreheads together, their chests and bellies. Things changed in war, Much learned. The things people did to one another changed.

*

Robin was called the Hero of Acre until he drifted into a fever, and when he woke up the entire camp was gone. The stumbling peace had broken, or had never really taken to begin with. The King had gone south. 

"I think we will go home," Robin said at last, as though there was a choice. He was pale and the sounds of the empty plains were around them. "It's been five years. Locksley will have changed."

"So long as they can feed us when we get there, I don't care."

"Poor Much. It's a wonder you're alive, starving for so long."

"The food is never as good anywhere else, you know that. Although, those shish kebabs the Turks eat are very nice and I, for one, would rather have them than another plate of stew."

Robin watched him. "You'll be a freeman when we get there. You'll be your own master."

That was an old promise. It sounded strange said in daylight.

The hangings of the tent fluttered in the stuttering breeze. "You need to gain your strength before we go anywhere," Much replied. "I shall bring you some bread."

He could remember England as it had been: the dark paths in the forest, the sturdy huts and rain. He longed for the safety of it more than he wished for any other thing, yet leaving the Holy Land only felt like embarking on another long journey. 

For three weeks he had paced and put water on Robin's hands and made bargains with Heaven. When Robin had been stabbed he bled darkly; under the moonlight the colour was black. Much had thrown the ruined surcoat on the fire and later, standing in front of Robin's tent and watching the rest of the King's men ride away, red crosses on their shoulders, he had not missed home. 

* 

Much's story goes like this: he returned from the Crusade and became an outlaw. He was good with a sword and a bow and taking care of his master. One day Robin Hood took pity on him; Robin Hood said, I have led you to this; but Much had learned things his parents never taught him, and he knew he had led himself there.

And that was the real beginning of his life.


End file.
